Free Trident Fury (The Kurgan War Book 3) by Richard Turner Page A

placed a hand on his shoulder. “Sir, you haven’t done anything wrong. You’re human and you’ve made a bad call. Hell, we all do. You’re not the first and you won’t be the last person to do what you have done. Trust me when I say that I’m here to help you get through this. Talking about how you feel is better for you than a dozen bottles of alcohol. Today is the first day of a new life for you.”
    Sheridan nodded. He did not raise his head. He had never felt so low in his entire life.
    Cole examined the bottles. He was surprised at the assortment of alcohol his young friend had accumulated. “Sir, where did you get the vodka from?”
    “The ships’ supply petty officer has a stash.”
    Cole stood up and let out a resigned sigh. “Sir, from here on out when you feel the need for a drink, just come see me instead. As for that petty officer, he and I are about to have a one-way conversation that will end badly for him.”
    Sheridan wiped his eyes and stood up. “Thanks, Master Sergeant. I owe you.”
    “Sir, this isn’t about owing anyone anything. This about doing the right thing. Now hand me that report to read, your last one was full of grammatical errors.”
    Sheridan gave a fake look of indignation. “Hey, I’m the one with the degree.”
    “That does not mean you know how to write.”

Chapter 8

    Michael Sheridan stood outside the door to his father’s private quarters. He made sure that his new uniform was neat and tidy before pressing the buzzer on the wall. A couple of seconds later, the door slid open and his father stood there with a smile on his weathered face. Like his son, Admiral Robert Sheridan was tall and fit, with green eyes and black hair that was now graying around the temples. Right away, his father reached out and hugged his son. The years of estrangement between them had long vanished and a strong bond of respect and admiration had replaced it.
    “It’s good to see you again, Michael,” said the admiral.
    “You too, Father.” He moved into the room and saw that the dinner table was already set for two.
    “Come, let’s sit down and have a bite to eat. We can talk over dinner. Unfortunately, I have a conference call with Admiral Oshiro in just over an hour.”
    “Something up?” asked Sheridan as he took a seat at the table.
    “It’s my usual weekly chat with the admiral . . . at least that’s what I think it is.”
    Sheridan smirked when he saw the usual bottle of wine that accompanied all his father’s dinner meals was missing.  
    “Yes, I see you’ve noticed,” said the admiral. “My steward received a message from Sergeant Cole that I was not to serve you any alcohol with your meals anymore. Is there something you want to tell me, Michael?”
    Sheridan felt his cheeks flush. He fought the feelings of guilt and shame in his heart and looked up at his father. “Dad, Master Sergeant Cole is just looking out for me. I hit the bottle pretty hard after Tarina went missing. It’s for my own good that I abstain from any alcohol.”
    Robert Sheridan smiled. “Michael, you’ve got the best damned NCO in the entire Marine Corps. If you won’t have any, neither will I from now until this blasted war is over.”
    “Dad, you don’t have to do that. I’m the one with the problem.”
    “You’re right, I don’t have to, but I want to. Now dig in, your fish is getting cold.”
    Sheridan took a fork full of salmon and savored its taste. After almost two months of eating rations or poorly cooked food, he was happy to enjoy a decent meal with his father. A couple of minutes later, Sheridan set his fork down and asked, “Sir, how is the offensive going in the Titan system?”
    The admiral shook his head. The bitter look on his face told Sheridan that things had not turned out as fleet headquarters had predicted. “I hate to say it, but things there went spectacularly bad for the First and Third Fleets. We lost two carriers and over two dozen other vessels trying to take